


Lying... Is bad.

by orphan_account



Series: Sherlock spanking stories [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Corporal Punishment, F/M, Gen, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:06:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2602901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John teaches Sherlock not to lie. Or be an arsehole to his friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lying... Is bad.

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to 'A Lesson Learned' and 'What Not To Do' :)

As John and Sherlock were walking up the stairs to their flat, the tension was so thick you could've cut it with a knife.

Closing the door with a slam, Sherlock had barely the time to pull off his coat before John began. "Sherlock Holmes, that was completely unacceptable and you know it. How dare you speak to our friend that way. Look at me when I'm talking to you!"

"Oh please John. You're being ridiculous. You're just like Lestrade. Ignorant." Looking at his flatmate's expression he realised he had crossed a line but he pressed on anyway. "And anyway, your subpar brains will have forgotten it by tomorrow."

"Well, despite my subpar brain, I can certainly remember the last time you got your bum spanked for being a brat Sherlock. Do you need a reminder?"

Sherlock turned away. "You're such an idiot," he muttered under his breath. Apparently it wasn't quite as under his breath as he had thought though, because John's hand soon reached out, quick as a whip to grab his wrist.

"Corner. Sherlock. Now." John barked.

Sherlock scowled, yanking himself free. "You can't be serious," he scoffed. "No."

"Yes. This is not optional - we're not discussing this." 

Sherlock rolled his eyes petulantly.

Right then. Fine. If Sherlock was going to test him then John was going to reciprocate. He took two steps over to his friend, reached up and took his ear in a sharp pinch. 

He grasped Sherlock's ear tightly, twisting it so that he had to stoop. "Ow! Ow, John!"

The doctor ignored him, marching him to the corner and keeping his hold on his ear, smacked one hand down hard on Sherlock's backside.

"Ow!"

John gave him another sharp smack and released him. "Face the wall. Fifteen minutes, Sherlock Holmes."

The detective glared him and made as if to disobey but John snapped: "Move from that spot and I'll put you over my knee for a real spanking!" He paused, meeting his flatmate's eyes. "You know I'll do it."

Sherlock huffed, but turned to face the wall.

"Well done," John said sternly. He sat down, grabbing his book.

Sherlock fumed in the corner. It wasn't fair. He'd hardly done anything wrong and now he was in time out like a three year old. He sneaked a sideways glance at John. The man was reading. And that was really unfair. John never had to stand in the corner.

"Face the wall, Sherlock."

Oh, damn it. 

......

When Sherlock's fifteen minutes were finally up, John stepped over and said firmly: "Okay Sherlock. I want you to tell me why you deserved that time out."

Sherlock turned to face his flatmate and disciplinarian. He gave a sigh. "I was rude to you." Seeing the look on John's face he quickly added: "And Molly. Also Lestrade." 

"Too right you were. Unnecessarily rude. Molly and Gr- Lestrade were doing you a favour and you treated them horribly."

"I'm sorry John."

John nodded. "Thank you Sherlock. I want you to apologise to Molly as well, and Lestrade." 

"That's not fair," Sherlock complained.

"Oh, it is fair. And you're going to do it. If you don't, I'll spank you and you can do it with a sore backside."

Sherlock shook his head, clasping his hands over his bottom protectively. "Fine."

"You promise?" 

"I promise."

"Good. Off you go."

"What, now?"

"Yep. Get going."

The younger man huffed, pulling on his coat and scarf. He headed for the door, yanking it open.

"Oh, and Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"I will know if you haven't done it. If you lie to me," he pointed a finger at the younger man, "There will be consequences."

"Yeah, yeah." Sherlock left, slamming the door moodily.

......

Sherlock scowled as he stalked down Baker Street. He knew he had been rude. But at the time he had just been being himself though, so the fact that he had to stand in the corner was infuriating. And not to mention that John had smacked his bum. Which was blatantly unfair, to say the least.

Okay, so it hadn't really hurt that much, but his pride had most definitely been damaged. John was probably lowering Sherlock's self esteem every single time he smacked him and the man didn't even realise! It was amazing that Sherlock still had any confidence left. 

Sherlock had a good mind to just piss off somewhere and not apologise at all - it wasn't as if John could know. Could he? John never knew if Sherlock was lying or not and he wasn't exactly going to just ask Molly, was he? He wouldn't simply call up Lestrade and say "Hey, did Sherlock tell you he was sorry for calling you old and washed up?" 

John wouldn't do that. It just wasn't the way he was. John was a firm believer in trust and loyalty and if Sherlock told him in his most honest and truthful voice then it would be accepted and maybe there would be hugs and John would be proud of him.

He stopped and sighed, messing up his curls anxiously. He didn't want to apologise to anybody - in his opinion he didn't actually do anything wrong - but he didn't want the punishment that would follow if John found out about he had lied. 

But he wasn't sorry. 

Making up his mind, he headed off to buy cigarettes. He had an hour to kill before he went back to the flat, so he decided to go find somewhere to smoke and then he'd head for 221b.

He tried to quell the small twinges of guilt within himself. After all, there was nothing to be sorry for - John was clearly overreacting. 

......

He returned to Baker Street about an hour and a half later, having chain-smoked a series of cigarettes with a rather intriguing Norwegian heroin addict. Judging by her fingernails and her choice of fake leather jacket she was actually a marine biology student gone off the rails. He had got her to sign up as part of his homeless network - after all, one never knew how knowledge of fish could be a help in a murder investigation.

Entering the flat and pulling off his coat he smirked at John, who was blogging. Mary was cuddled up beside him and she smiled at Sherlock.

"You smell," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"No I don't. John, your wife's bullying me." 

John looked up. "How many cigarettes have you had then?"

"Just the one."

Mary raised an eyebrow but elected not to comment.

The doctor stood up. He went to face Sherlock and asked pointedly: "Did you apologise to Lestrade?"

"Yeah, course," Sherlock lied, keeping a straight face. "I promised I would."

"No you didn't," Mary said, looking up suddenly. "You're lying."

Sherlock flinched. "No I'm not!" How did she know? How, honestly could Mary have figured out he was lying?

"Yeah, you are. I'm not John, I can tell when you're fibbing."

John looked extremely stern. "Is this true, Sherlock?"

"I-" Sherlock cursed his stutter.

John threw his hands in the air. "It is. Oh, brilliant! Don't you dare lie to me Sherlock Holmes! You know you don't ever lie to me, we've been through this before!"

Sherlock stared at John, feeling like a rabbit caught in the headlights. The older man began to stride towards him and the spell was broken. He turned and burst through the door, sprinting down the stairs and out into the night.

.......

Sherlock ran up to Lestrade's door, knocking quickly and folding over slightly in order to get his breath back.

"Sherlock! What's up - are you alright?" To his surprise, Lestrade didn't sound angry. Instead, the older man seemed almost, well, concerned.

"I-" He struggled to get his breath back. "I need... Need to-" 

"Calm down. It's alright, you can tell me in a minute." He gripped Sherlock by the shoulders and steered him to the kitchen, pouring him a glass of water. "Where the hell have you been? John called me. He was worried sick; said you'd just run off into the night."

Slurping his water, Sherlock blinked at him. "Sorry," he said plainly.

"That's alright. Apology accepted." He sat down opposite Sherlock. "Now, what got you in this state, huh? You've gone all... weird." He gestured a hand at Sherlock. "Well, weirder than usual." 

"I'm fine. Is that it? Aren't you going to shout at me? Isn't that usually how these things go?"

Lestrade sighed, rubbing his temples. "Well, what you said was very hurtful Sherlock. However, I'm glad you apologised, 'cause I know how bad you are at saying sorry."

Lestrade pulled out his mobile. Sherlock eyed it warily. "What are you doing?"

"Sending a text to John - he's no idea where you ran off to."

Sherlock closed his fingers over the mobile. "Don't, I'm just going back now." He stood abruptly and strode to the door, slamming it in his wake.

Greg Lestrade reached for his phone.

......

Sherlock climbed up the steps to the flat as quietly as he could. He could hear the television blaring - John was certainly in there. He opened the door that led to the kitchen instead. There was a forty percent chance of him not getting caught as he headed to his bedroom; it was worth a try. 

"Come into the living room, Sherlock."

Damn.

He walked slowly towards John, stopping to stand directly in front of him.

"Right," John said grimly. "I'm sure you can deduce what's going to happen now."

Sherlock shook his head, a little stubbornly.

John shrugged, walking past Sherlock to the kitchen. The detective followed John into the kitchen, reasoning earnestly. "Look, I don't need a spanking! I apologised already, I swear."

John wasn't listening to him though. The doctor opened a drawer and pulled out a wooden spoon as Sherlock's voice trailed off.

"Oh, no, Joooohn," he whined, backing away. "I apologised, I did!"

"The problem, Sherlock Holmes, isn't your rudeness - though it could definitely use some improvement. The problem is your apparent inability to be truthful, even under the threat of consequences. That is why you are about to be spanked. Consequences for your behaviour - I think you know me well enough to remember that I don't believe in empty threats."

"Well you obviously do believe in them, else you wouldn't have brought them up," Sherlock muttered, scowling at the floor.

John pointed the spoon at him. "Don't be rude." He sighed. "Let's get this over with then. Come on, we're going to your room."

"No, John," Sherlock wheedled. He backed up against the kitchen table, gripping onto it as if John was going to drag him. "Please, I said I was sorry. I don't want a... a... spanking." He grimaced at the hated word. 

"You want to do this here? With Mrs Hudson sitting right below us? 'Cause if you don't start marching to your room right now, we will."

"I don't want to be hit at all!"

"I'm going to count to three." He paused, then smacked the spoon against the palm of his hand. "One."

Sherlock flinched at the single crack. He jumped up, hands still covering his backside. "Alright, alright! I'm going!"

Giving John a slightly aggravated look he headed for his bedroom, looking like a man headed for the gallows.

"Alright," John said, once he and Sherlock had reached the safety of the detective's bedroom. "Lie across my knee."

"Ohhhh, John. Can't I just lie across the bed, or something?" He ran his hands through his hair frustratedly. "I'm not seven, you know!"

"No, you're not. However you were behaving like a kid, so you can be treated like one."

"This is really unfair."

"Come on now."

"This is cruel, unnecessary treatment..." Sherlock muttered. He stepped closer to John, awkwardly climbing onto the bed and flopping miserably over the older man's lap, propping himself up by his elbows.

John adjusted his grip on Sherlock's waist, gently pushing him forward so that his upturned backside was in range before swinging the spoon down with a crack.

Sherlock winced, turning his head back to glare at his disciplinarian.

John raised the spoon. "Don't act like a brat and disrespect your friends, Sherlock." He let the spoon thwack back down several times. "And more importantly," he punctuated each word with a smack; "Don't. Lie. To. Me."

"Ow!" Sherlock let out.

John patted him on the back slightly, without stopping the strikes.

"Ouch! Yes! I'm sorry... And I won't lie to you again!" He wriggled about John's lap as several more spanks rained down.

"Not just me," John told him sternly. "I don't want you lying to anybody - unless they are a criminal."

"What about a - ow! - policeman?"

"No policemen either. Unless - and I mean it when I say unless - it is vitally important for a case or in not getting you arrested." He dealt a particularly hard smack to Sherlock's thigh. "No lying to Lestrade though. He's our friend. No lying to friends."

"Yeah, okay, okay! I get it!" He thumped the mattress with a closed fist. "Sorry!"

"Good." John put the spoon down and helped Sherlock up. The younger man rolled onto his bed and lay on his side, rubbing his bum reproachfully. "Ow." He said, rather pointedly.

John sat beside him and stroked a hand through Sherlock's hair. He said gently: "If you had just apologised in the first place, Sherlock, or said 'No John I did not say sorry' to me, then you wouldn't have been smacked. Do you understand that?" He didn't stop rubbing Sherlock's hair.

"Yes," the younger man mumbled. "I won't lie again, promise." 

"Yeah, right," John muttered, smiling affectionately.


End file.
